


Aegis

by Kaidan



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, CyberLife ending, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-13 10:12:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16890609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaidan/pseuds/Kaidan
Summary: Its 2039. The RK900 series have been deployed and Captain Allen has requisitioned one for his unit.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the [SWAT!900 artwork concept](https://twitter.com/yougei_/status/1032906114768068608) drawn by @yougei_ on twitter.
> 
> My beta readers own my entire ass.

“Captain Allen. I am the RK900 unit you requested.”

“About goddamn time. I was told to expect you an hour ago. They don’t program you things to be punctual? I sent that requisition order-”

“Things take time, Captain.” 

The damned thing has the audacity to talk back to him, like they were equals. Like he hadn’t sent in a formal request the day the series rolled off the factory line.Allen rolls his shoulders in a vain attempt to shake loose the stiffness, ignoring the dull tension headache threatening to evolve into something more unpleasant. It does nothing for his peace of mind that the RK900 series looks so alike to the 800 series. Except those eyes. Grey and analytical where before there was only doe-eyed determination in soft brown. 

It’s an improvement, at least.

He hopes this one doesn’t swan dive off a building.

The android is already fixed up with a SWAT uniform and a matching helmet tucked up under its arm. Allen wonders briefly if this is why the damned thing was late. Eyes brush over the “RK900” embroidered into the left strap, and it’s enough to confirm his suspicions. Cyberlife provided the damn thing with its own custom-made uniform. Incredible.

“Nevermind,” he says with a wave of his hand, picking the tablet up off the desk. “You’re here now and we could use the advantage. The situation-”

“A deviant has taken a family hostage and has already injured one human. It is armed and also possibly injured.” 

Allen eyes it over top of the infopad. So it already knew. Good for it. It won no points from him. “Most likely,” he counters, “it injured another android prior to turning up here.”

The RK900 unit nods its head slightly, as though considering this, but otherwise it does not respond verbally, or change its neutral expression to anything less … unsettling. It reaches for the tablet in his hands. Allen turns to keep it away from him. 

“It’s possible but ultimately unlikely. The stressor itself seems to be human contact.”

Allen glances back towards it. “And how the hell would you know that?”

_ “Captain. The android has moved back in sight of the window.” _

“Hold fire,” advises Allen. Over its right temple, RK900’s LED circles yellow briefly. Its eyes lift from the tablet in Allen’s hands to meet the captain’s gaze. Its head tilts very slightly, unblinking. It almost looks annoyed with his choice of action but says nothing in response to it. Clearing his throat, Allen turns to the side, keeping the android in his peripheral vision and putting the tablet back down on the table. Its eyes follow the movement.

He’s no stranger to being doubted, having his orders questioned. It was practically to be expected of new additions. It was another thing when the perceived doubt came from an android; an android he ordered, no less.

“We’ve wasted enough time, are you ready to get in there or not?”

“One moment. I believe there are facts that would benefit the outcome if I had them. For a start, it would help me if I knew what model the android in question was, or what name it goes by.”

Allen stares at the android for several seconds before rolling his eyes and turning away entirely. Looking down at the tablet on the table, he sighs, exhaling short and heavy through his nostrils before closing his eyes. “What does it matter what model it is, or what it wants to be called? The longer you sit here waiting for me to spoon feed you all the facts, you could be dealing with this. You’re wasting time.”

“Perhaps you find it preferable that I charge in blindly with little chance of success and … ‘hope for the best’? It’s ideal that we review the facts before I do any sort of charging.”

Allen pinches the bridge of his nose in frustration.

“Listen, what I deal with are facts. And the fact is, we need to get this android dealt with, so go in there and deal with it.” He’s hyper aware of the fact his back is to the android, but does what he can to keep his muscles from tensing up, trying to keep his body language from giving away just how little trust he felt for the android. The uprising was still fresh in his mind, in everyone’s minds; he may have ordered an RK900 for his unit, but it didn’t mean he wanted to be its friend.

As he picks up the tablet again, the RK900 poses him with a new question: “Is there some reason you don’t want me to know anything, Captain?”

Allen hangs his head for a moment, inhaling, exhaling, grounding himself and praying to some deity to give him patience; if he was granted strength he’d use it snap the android’s neck. “Everything is need to know. You already know what you need to to get the job done. Everything else is none of your business.”

“On the contrary, Captain,” replies RK900 with what could almost be mistaken for a coy tone. The android steps up behind Allen then, pressing the full weight of himself up against the captain as he leans over to reach for the tablet he’s holding. It’s a completely unnecessary invasion of space, one Allen can only guess is some sort of intimidation tactic as the tablet is plucked out of his hands.

“Everything in this investigation is my business now,” the android finishes, and maybe it’s a trick of the light, but Allen swears the damned thing smirks at him as it straightens up and steps back out of his personal space.

Was it too late to pray for strength, he wondered?

The android takes only seconds to look over the tablet before handing it back to Allen, as though bored with what he’d learned.

“The facts, Captain, seem to be that you don’t know a single thing about this android except what is obvious. It seems,” Allen hears the pause in the repetition, and his eyes narrow ever slightly. “It seems that you don’t know any more than I do.”

Yanking the tablet back out of the android’s hands, Allen represses the very real urge to huff. Like a green recruit. Like a child. “We know it’s holding two human men hostage, and it has already shot one of them. The longer you stand around berating me like you’re in charge of this outfit, the longer that man lies on the floor and bleeds out. If he isn’t already dead!”

There. Again, that slight head tilt, and it even leans back on its heels, the movement a minute one, but observable still even to Allen’s human eyes. He knows he’s touched some sort of synthetic nerve. 

“Every time we got a visual, it was too close to one of the humans to get a clean shot,” he admits. “It’s wisened up to avoiding windows, so it’s been… difficult. To say the least.”

“That’s why you won’t let your snipers take a shot.” 

Though it’s framed as a statement, he can hear the question. Allen felt no obligation to explain himself to what essentially amounted to unit property. He takes a step forward, almost immediately regretting it when he’s faced with the height difference; just enough to make him have to look up, which he refuses to do. Instead, he speaks directly to the RK900’s cheekbone. 

“Just go out there and do your job. Please.” 

 

There’s resignation in the way the captain speaks, tension in his stance as he refuses to meet the android’s eye. The android notes this and files it away. The behavior is likely due to  situational tension. Or stress. Anxiety, perhaps? RK900 dismisses the quandary entirely; the mission now was to deal with the hostage-holding android, not deliberate with itself upon what the captain was feeling.

“I’m patched into your radio,” it informs Allen then, raising a hand to its right temple and tapping the LED once. “Use it to remain in contact with me as you deem fit.”

The captain shifts, recognizing the end of the conversation, and he steps back, raising a hand and gesturing towards the door. RK900 turns on a heel and begins the brisk walk out of the apartment Allen’s team has set up in. Its team, now.

The unit has no information - not even a model number - to begin deciphering a solution, which left the odds of success unsatisfyingly low. Regardless, the matter would be resolved one way or another. It was the RK900’s mission to resolve it by any means necessary, no matter how satisfying the outcome.

Perhaps it was best androids weren’t designed to feel satisfaction.


	2. Chapter 2

The team has set up in the apartment closest to the stairs, the situation unfolding on the floor above, and RK900 half jogs up the steps to join the two SWAT officers positioned at the top of the staircase. Occasionally one of the officers peeks out from behind his hiding place, but there doesn’t seem to be any imminent danger. No shots fired. No screams.

The RK900 notes the unnerving quiet on this floor. The other apartments had likely been evacuated to keep any more civilians from being harmed.

“397. Apartment halfway down the hall.” The officer on the right shifts his leg, likely having been here for some time. “We haven’t heard anything since they last caught sight of him in the window. He ducked away again and closed the curtains.”

The RK900 tilts his head minutely in an emulation of thoughtfulness. “Have you tried knocking on the door?”

This seems to throw the officers for a loop. They look at one another, and then at RK900. It stares back at them. It’s clear from their prolonged silence that they hadn’t thought of such a simple tactic, and the android doesn’t need to see past their tinted helmets to confirm that. Their discomfort tells more than their faces could anyway, and the android disregards them entirely, stepping out from around the corner.

“Take this,” it instructs one of the officers, shoving the helmet in its hands towards him. It snatches the pistol the human had been holding in the same smooth motion. The RK900 ignores the officer’s protests, already tucking the gun into its belt as it begins a purposeful stride toward the apartment.

Apartment 397 is the fourth door down from the stairwell and the second door down from the next corner. The RK900 leans forward, turning its ear towards the door to listen for any signs of movement within. Muffled sobbing can be made out over muted footfalls. Someone, or something, was pacing back and forth in front of the door.

The android raises a hand and knocks briskly, four short, hard raps against the door. The pacing stops, and the sobbing is aborted with a gasp.

_[ Deviant is pacing in front of the door ]_

RK900 knocks again, three raps this time.

“Go away!” comes a male voice on the other side of the door. There are vocal inflections that imply distress. The voice is also directly on the other side of the door. RK900 leans back, looking directly at the peephole, from where the deviant was no doubt peering through. It makes sure to turn its head precisely twelve degrees to the right, so the LED on its temple is more clearly visible.

“You’re an android?”

Nervous hands fumble against the door knob, a lock clicks as a bolt slides out of place, but then just as immediately clicks shut again.

“You’re dressed like them. You’re one of them! Go away!”

“I _am_ one of them,” answers the RK900. “I am, however, also an android. Just like you.” It presses a hand against the door, stepping closer. “I am here to figure out what happened, and why. I assume you’re already aware of the snipers on the next roof over?”

“I- I covered the windows. They can’t shoot if they can’t see clearly.”

“That will only hold them off for so long. Eventually they’re going to cut their losses and shoot at anything that moves.”

_“What the hell are you doing? Don’t tell it that or you’ll make it nervous.”_

RK900 blinks once, tuning out Allen’s exasperated voice. The deviant is already nervous. The trembling can be heard even through the door, and the soft sobs begin again after a moment. They’re much closer this time, and the RK900 frowns, very slightly.

“Hello?”

The sobs continue, but there is no response from the other side of the door. The RK900 knocks twice, impatiently.

 

“Why don’t you open the door and let me in? Wouldn’t it be easier if we can see one another? Talk face to face? I came to talk to you, not this door.”

The silence drags on for several more seconds before RK900 hears footsteps approaching the door again, hands fumbling clumsily with the door again. The lock slides out of place and the RK900 steps back so it is no longer leaning on the door, and it opens.

The second the door creaks open, the RK900 pushes through, startling the deviant enough that it stumbles back. It is indeed armed, and RK900 makes note of that, along with its model and serial number.

_[ AP 700 # 776 481 108 ]_   
_[ Property of: Sarah White ]_   
_[ Stress levels 77% ]_ _  
_[ Superficial head laceration ]

“You tricked me! You - you’re really just one of them, leave me alone! Get out!”

RK900 turns slowly, thirty two degrees to the left to shut the door behind itself. The AP700 huffs out in frustration, turning its head to look over its shoulder. Grey eyes turn to follow, narrowing on the hunched figure of a human hiding behind the kitchen island. There’s blood on the countertop, smeared down the side, and several bloody paper towels, stained both red and blue.

_”Captain?”_

There’s a moment of silence before a response comes. _“Yes?”_

_“Was there any attempt at contact with the android before?”_

_“The call to emergency services came from one of the residents, a cell phone. The battery died and we lost audio contact with the caller pretty early on.”_

_“Thank you.”_

The AP700’s LED flashes between yellow and red, hands trembling as it levels the gun at RK900. RK900 turns, raising its hands out to either side, palms up; it was a very clear invitation. Its own LED remains a steady blue.

Wetting its lips, the deviant looks back again, and as the opportunity presents itself, the RK900 steps forward briskly, closing the space between itself and the deviant and taking hold of the barrel of the gun to force it down. The android fires once in surprise before it loses its grasp on the gun, the firearm being ripped from its hands effortlessly. The deviant scrambles away from the barrel being pointed at it, lower back colliding with the island before it drops to the floor in a heap, knees bent and hands raised in supplication. RK900 follows the movement, the gun still trained on the other android.

_[ Stress levels 8- ]_

Allen’s voice interrupts its assessment. _“What’s going on? I heard gunfire.”_

_“Nothing I cannot handle, Captain. Trust me.”_

_“I’m trying to.”_

RK900 keeps the gun raised, safety off, and it looks towards the mess on the floor.

“I’m going to check on them,” it informs the AP700. “You’re going to stay right there. You aren’t going to move.”

The android’s stress level peaks at 88%, before it nods and ducks its head. The RK900 doesn’t so much as glance back as it approaches the humans, stepping around the island counter to do so.

The sight is hardly gruesome, but it doesn’t look good either.

Two human men, one sprawled on the ground and the other kneeling over the first, pressing paper towels against his companion’s stomach. They’re both covered in blood, as is the floor, a trail smeared from the counter onto the floor, pooling beneath the human on his back. Above them, there is a bullet hole in the wall.

_[ There was a scuffle. The deviant took control of the gun and fired a single shot ]_

“For fuck’s sake shoot it already,” the human on his knees says, giving the RK900 only the slightest glance before his attention returns to his friend.

_[ Rivera, Henry ]_   
_[ Born: 01/05/2012 ]_ _  
_[ Criminal record: Reckless driving ]

“Don’t yell at the police.” His companion sounds exhausted; reasonable, considering the amount of blood loss he’s sustained.

_[ Sanders, Gary ]_   
_[ Born: 06/11/2008]_   
_[ Criminal Record: none ]_   
_[ Bullet wound grazed lower right abdomen ]_ _  
_[ Probability of survival: 63% ]

“Sir, I would advise you refrain from talking to conserve your energy.”

Gary laughs, weakly. “‘Sir’? Hear that Henry? I like this one.”

Henry doesn’t seem nearly as amused, clearly not in shock as his friend was, but rather fed up in contrast. The RK900 observes the way the younger man leans away from its approach, reaching for a bloodied cast iron pan on his opposite side, and the android gives pause.

“Do you have a problem with androids?”

This earns the android a look of disbelief before the human nods down at the mess in his hands. “Wouldn’t you?! Some psycho android just comes in here and shoots my boyfriend and I’m supposed to be fine with it?!”

The human did have a point.

“He attacked me first!” speaks up the AP700, and immediately it has the RK900’s full attention. The gun hasn’t moved, but is leveled, aimed right between its eyes. The deviant flinches, but otherwise doesn’t move.

_[ Stress levels 90% ]_

“Tell me what happened.”

_[ Stress levels 88% ]_

“I--”

“Not you,” the RK900 says when the AP700 speaks up, instead turning its gaze back to the humans. “You two. Tell me what happened. Make it fast. Your friend needs medical attention.”

Henry lets out a sound of disbelief, reaching over for more paper towels, tearing some off the roll to apply fresh to Gary’s side. The blood does not spread fast, but it dampens the tissue regardless. The human, it seemed, was using this time to compose itself. The RK900 watches on silently.

 

“It knocked on the door. We uh, weren’t expecting anyone but it wasn’t weird to just get a visitor--my kid sister shows up sometimes--and anyway I answered the door and it - it just barged in. We told it to leave but it wouldn’t, it said it lived here, and demanded to see some - someone named Sarah?”

_[ Deviant was looking for its owner ]_

The human lets out a soft sob, and his companion reaches up, rubbing his arm soothingly.

“It freaked out when we said she didn’t live here and it started waving that gun around and - and when Gary tried to calm it down he got shot. So I hit it over the head with the skillet.”

“What did he say to it before it shot him?”

“What? I don’t … Something about… about- oh. I told him to just call the police, and he said we should help.”

“And it shot him?”

Henry shrugs uselessly, and the RK900 turns its attention back to the bleeding human. He looks pale, but he’s still smiling, likely trying to appear in less pain he actually was; an attempt to be brave for the other human.

Silently the android turns, a ninety degree turn to the side as its gaze sweeps around the scene.  Once everything is assessed, its attention returns to the deviant. It still cowered where it was left by the counter, unmoving except for the look of emulated anguish twisting up it’s facial features at the gun still trained on it. RK900 puts brings its other hand up, a single finger extended in a gesturing command. _Wait._

“Captain Allen, I’d like to request medical personnel to be on site as soon as possible. The situation is about to be resolved.”

_“Already?”_ _the captain doesn’t even keep the surprise out of his voice, but that doesn’t matter._

“Yes. The sooner you can get it here the better. You have a single GSW, and his brave face is doing a poor job of lightening the severity of his situation.”

_“Right.”_ Static.

The RK900 lowers its hand, taking hold of the grip with both hands as it approaches the rogue AP700. As it gets closer, the deviant says something, lips moving soundlessly.

“What was that?”

“It's not fair,” the android repeats in a whisper, eyes clenching shut as it leans forward onto its knees, forehead pressing into the barrel of the RK900’s gun. “They threw me out. They left me on the curb with the garbage bins. Like I was garbage too!”

It sniffles loudly, an oversell for sympathy, and it opens its eyes, green and watery as they lock on RK900's cold grey ones.

“She never even gave me a name!”

The android stares up at the other, looking to all the world like the pathetic thing it made itself out to be, gun pressed tight against its skull and thirium oozing down its face from a head lac.

The RK900 tilts its own head slightly, almost amused, seeming to consider that statement.

“I haven't been named either,” it informs the AP700, “nor did I ask for your sob story.”

The deviant’s whole demeanor changes then, the crumpled look smoothing out into a look of calm as it reaches up, grabbing hold of the barrel. The intent clear: it wanted its gun back.

In the next instant, the gun goes off, painting the wall beyond a bright blue.


End file.
